Reflecting on yesterday, I've decided I'm jealous. Twice a month my wife and I volunteer at the food bank sponsored by our church. It's a great opportunity to give back. About fifty percent of the volunteers there come from our church and it seems like I've known them forever. I know the spouses and all their kids.

Among the regulars is a woman I've had personal interaction with. We've been invited to their kids birthday parties 4th of July celebrations and other occasions. She was there as we unloaded freight and set up to receive clients. I can't say that I normally pay much attention to who's there or what particular job they are doing, but yesterday, I had cause to notice her. I was standing at a counter, braking down cardboard for the recycle bin. The counter had boxes of apples that needed to be moved to the produce section of the room. This woman came over and hefted one of the boxes to take there and a young girl about 8 years old was following her.

A cute young thing with an innocent, smiling, round face; long blonde hair, pulled back into a ponytail at the back of her head with long bangs swept to either side of her forehead. This young girl was about to attempt to move the other box. I challenged her telling her that it might be a bit heavy for her, since the woman she was with clearly put some effort to lifting the other box. She relented and waited for the woman to come back.

I was taken with how cute and demure this young girl was and found myself speculating as to who she was. I first thought she might be a niece, but finally reasoned that wasn't likely. I've know this woman for a couple of decades and I know her mother and consider them both friends and I've never heard any mention of this woman having siblings.

I had lot to do and didn't really have time to puzzle it out, but later, when things slowed down, just before the clients were to be admitted, I spotted the two of them and again began to puzzle it. After a few minutes, it hit me like a ton of bricks. This woman had three kids. A girl 28, a boy 20 and a boy 8. The girl in question was her son. ... Her son! While I don't see the kid every day, still though I should have recognized him, but I didn't.

I was eight when I first began dressing in my sisters clothes. I don't remember ever, even at that age, no matter how I was dressed, looking enough like a girl to be mistaken for a girl. Yet this boy, dressed in a simple t-shirt, jeans and tennis shoes was androgynous enough that the simple ponytail and long bangs was enough for someone who had known him since he was born (4 months early, a miracle to have lived) to look him in the face at close quarters and deem him a girl. If I'd seen him exiting the women's room, I'd have thought nothing of it.

I was hit with jealousy. Even in my wildest fantasies I never imagined myself to be like this boy, but I'd have given anything for that.